laughter at the idea. "Now listen you, and spread this truth abroad.… Madame will excuse me," and he turned with his stage bow to Madame.… "I am no plaster saint, I am a Légionnaire. Sometimes I go to this Café—I admit it," and again turning to Madame, he laid his hand upon his heart. "Madame," he appealed, "I have no home, no wife, no fireside to which to be faithful.… And as I honestly admit I visit this Café. The girl is glad of my custom and possibly a little honoured—of that I would say nothing.… Accidents will happen to the bravest and most skilful of men in duels. The girl begged me not to fight. 'You are my best customer,' said she, 'and the handsomest of all my patrons,' and carried on as such wenches do, when trade is threatened. 'Peace, woman,' said I, 'trouble me not, or I go to Zuleika across the way.' … She then took another line. 'Look you, Signor,' said she, 'this old fool, Boule, comes to me when he has money; and he drinks here every night. Spare his miserable carcase for what I make out of it,' and with a laugh I gave the girl my franc and half-promise.… Still, what is one's word to a wanton? I may shoot the dog yet, if he and his friends be not careful how they lie."
The drunken man had turned his face on to his arms. No one but the American and 'Erb noticed that his body was shaken convulsively. Perhaps with drunken laughter?
"Tole yer so, Cocky," bawled 'Erb in his ear. "You'll be sick as David's sow in a minnit, 'an' we'll all git blue-blind, paralytic drunk,'" and rising to his feet 'Erb lifted up his voice in song to the effect that—
